Lost the Plot
by zero
Summary: Spike rambles on about his lust for Buffy... this one's got a bit of a twist to it, though.


TITLE: "Lost The Plot"  
AUTHOR: zero  
EMAIL: zero@zeroimpact.com  
DISTRIBUTION: Yeah, sure, wherever. Please let me know if you're archiving  
somewhere so I can stop by and inflate my own sense of self-importance.  
SUMMARY: Congratulations...you're dinner.  
RATING: PG-13 for language  
CLASSIFICATION: Spike/Buffy  
DISCLAIMER: They belong to Joss. You belong to you.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story can be found on the web at  
http://www.zeroimpact.com/ along with any other fic I've written that  
hasn't made me cringe in loathing and fear. This has not been beta'd or  
spellchecked and therefore probably makes little sense. Also, the term  
"lost the plot" is apparently British slang for "gone mad", but it also  
applies here because... well, if I had a plot, it seems to have escaped.  
I'll have to hunt it down and kill it.   
DEDICATION: For Cassandra... because you're desperate, and I have nothing  
better to do.  
  
  
LOST THE PLOT  
by zero (zero@zeroimpact.com)  
  
There's a kind of reliable solidarity about it: the knowledge that, no  
matter how grand the scheme, no matter how carefully planned and  
flawlessly executed, she'll win. It's a steady reassurance, one of the few  
things on life that can be counted on consistently. It's knowing that no  
matter what I do, I'll end up battered and bloodied, thoroughly trounced  
by a blond whisp of a girl who, in another life, would've been nothing  
more than a snack to me.  
  
I'm not saying that getting my ass kicked is a good thing, mind you.  
Actually, it's bloody horrible. But to know that in a world of change this  
one thing remains the same...that's worth something.  
  
But if I've learned anything in two hundred years, it's that all things  
change, no matter how much you wish they wouldn't. She still wins, of  
course. She still thwarts all sinister plots and makes sure the world  
keeps on turning. She still kicks some serious undead ass. All that's  
changed is that she doesn't kick *my* ass anymore.  
  
It's kind of hard to do, you know, kicking somebody's ass when it's  
planted firmly in a wheelchair. I don't know if it'd be disgust or pity,  
but if I met her on the street now, I doubt she'd even take the time to  
dust me. I'm no threat anymore. Not worth bothering with.  
  
Sometimes I wonder if it's possible that she misses me. Those fast, wicked  
fights, so evenly matched. Every weapon at my disposal pointed straight at  
her, and her beating all of them away. The slide of my skin against hers,  
locked in combat so smooth and graceful that it's almost sensual in its  
brutality...   
  
Of course she doesn't. Miss me? Right. She'd rather just see me gone,  
whether I'm a threat or not. For conveniences' sake. But then who would  
keep her on her toes?  
  
It wouldn't be that wanker Angelus, I know that much. He's so *not*  
creative in his approach. He's nothing more than a common thug, a bully.  
Street-corner terrorist. Her only challenge where Angelus is concerned is  
herself: putting aside love and doing her duty. I've wondered whether she  
can do it at all; she's let him slip away so many times, he should've been  
dead ten times over already. But she's strong. She'll pull through, no  
matter what hand Fate deals her. The only question is how much victory  
will cost her.  
  
He's out there right now, y'know. Angelus, with the Slayer. They aren't  
shagging like they used to, obviously; more likely they're bashing each  
other's brains out with heavy objects. And that's alright, as long as the  
Slayer is the basher and Angel is the bashee. But that's not the point.   
The point is he's out there doing what I used to do, and when he comes  
back here, he does *who* I used to do. The bastard's taken over my unlife.   
  
And that's not really the part that gets me. The really disturbing bit is  
that I want *his* life. The one he used to lead, I mean. But...minus all  
the guilt and brooding and soul-having. I'm just plain tired of all this,  
you know? It might be nice; no minions to waste time browbeating, just to  
stand in the shadows, to observe quietly and only step in when you really  
want to. To be able to touch her...  
  
You know, Angelus was the "scourge of Europe" for a hundred years. And  
just because she met him *after* he did it all, she doesn't take the  
"psycho killer" thing into account; even after he became that demon again,  
she still loves him, somewhere deep inside herself. But me...she met me  
when I was still interested in the whole killing and maiming scene. And of  
course *that* hasn't changed, because I still do eat people, and it's  
still pretty fun. But under all that, I'm really not a bad guy.  
  
I'll bet you go to Sunnydale High School, don't you? You must've seen her,  
then; in the halls, the library, talking to her friends in that little  
courtyard. Buffy. Don't let the name fool you; she's just as much vicious  
killer as I am, she just doesn't let herself enjoy it as much. Fights for  
good rather than evil, and all that. Maybe you know her? No. It's just as  
well.   
  
She's short, and slim; I'd say "petite", but it seems too delicate a word  
to describe her. And she's not delicate. I imagine Angel -- soul-having  
Angel -- treated her that way, their first and only time together. I can  
see it in my head, his body over hers, touching her, holding her as if one  
wrong move would shatter her into a million pieces. But that's not what  
she needs. She needs someone whose strength perfectly matches her own,  
someone whose touch is intense rather than delicate, bold rather than  
tentative. Someone to match her mercurial moods and know just what she  
needs and when she needs it. She needs someone who can make hot, ferocious  
love to her without ripping out her heart and stomping on it --  
figuratively speaking, of course. Though with Angel lately, I suppose that  
could be taken literally as well...   
  
I've dreamed so many times of being that someone. Running my fingers  
through her silky golden hair, pressing the length of my body to hers  
without fear of a stake plunging through my heart. I've dreamed of it even  
more than I've dreamed of standing up again and reclaiming what's mine.  
I've dreamed of it more than I've dreamt of the sun. She *is* the sun.  
  
Very Anne Rice, right? Well, fuck you. So I've got problems. It's not like  
I can visit a psychiatrist; last time I tried that I ended up getting  
hungry and though sucking the condescending bitch dry really made me feel  
better, it didn't help the problem any. And I really don't have anyone to  
talk to, which you may have guessed by now based on the fact that I'm  
talking to *you*.  
  
I don't usually play with my food. Mother used to say it was bad manners,  
and when she married, her husband drove the point home with his fork. I've  
still got the scars from the tines. And besides that, I find it all just a  
bit distasteful. I never could stand it when I'm trying to eat and  
somebody's staring at me, much less when it's the thing I'm eating that's  
doing the staring. But it's okay tonight. It's okay. I just need somebody  
to talk to, and it's just your bad luck that it ended up being you.   
  
Of course, I could talk to Dru. Or Angel. Or any minion unfortunate enough  
to be called into my rooms. But Dru would no doubt prattle on about Angel,  
and Angel would nettle me about Dru, and a minion would just squirm  
uncomfortably and not pay attention. You're paying attention, aren't you?  
The same sort of attention a mouse pays a cat, all frozen and fearful. But  
that's good enough.  
  
So. The Slayer. She's real well-fit, that one; much better-looking than  
any of her predecessors. And she's better at what she does, too. Her  
disregard for the Watchers' rules and regulations is, no doubt, what's  
kept her alive this long. The way she thinks on her feet is simply  
astounding, and her creativity in a fight is unsurpassed. She uses the  
strangest of objects to kill her enemies, but it works out for her every  
time. There's luck involved, yes, but her survival is due mostly to  
natural skill. It's not just the Slayer in her, it's the girl: clever and  
resourceful. Even without that extra power, I think, she'd still come out  
on top in any scuffle. I really wouldn't mind having her on top at all...  
  
But I digress. My mind's all over the gaff tonight.   
  
You must be wondering what's going to happen to you. Yes? I thought so.   
You must think I'm different from the toadies who grabbed you off the  
street, right? Like I'm more *sensitive*. Like maybe if you appeal to my  
humanity, I'll help you get out of here.   
  
Well, you can abandon that hope right now. I haven't got any humanity.  
Yeah, I've got feelings for the Slayer. So what? You think I'm going to  
roll over, bare my belly, bark like her fucking dog? You think I'm going  
to stop killing and maiming and doing all of those funs things just  
because thinkin' about her gives me a hard-on?  
  
Yeah, I've been doing the five knuckle shuffle quite a bit lately. Yeah,  
I'd like to bare my belly if that'd get me off with that blond little  
bird. And yeah, I've been rambling on for quite some time about how  
fuckin' sexy my mortal enemy is. But none of that changes anything.  
  
I'm still hungry, little girl.  
  
  
  
THE END  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ow, ow, my neck! That hurt!  
  
----------------------------  
zero@zeroimpact.com  
http://www.zeroimpact.com  
----------------------------  
  
  



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